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Anne said nothing. She was looking afar into the western sky andthinking of little Hester Gray.

XIV

A Danger Averted

Anne, walking home from the post office one Friday evening,was joined by Mrs. Lynde, who was as usual cumbered withall the cares of church and state.

"I've just been down to Timothy Cotton's to see if I could getAlice Louise to help me for a few days," she said. "I had her lastweek, for, though she's too slow to stop quick, she's better thannobody. But she's sick and can't come. Timothy's sitting there,too, coughing and complaining. He's been dying for ten years andhe'll go on dying for ten years more. That kind can't even die andhave done with it. . .they can't stick to anything, even to being sick,long enough to finish it. They're a terrible shiftless family andwhat is to become of them I don't know, but perhaps Providence does."

Mrs. Lynde sighed as if she rather doubted the extent of Providentialknowledge on the subject.

"Marilla was in about her eyes again Tuesday, wasn't she?What did the specialist think of them?" she continued.

"He was much pleased," said Anne brightly. "He says there is agreat improvement in them and he thinks the danger of her losingher sight completely is past. But he says she'll never be able toread much or do any fine hand-work again. How are your preparationsfor your bazaar coming on?"

The Ladies' Aid Society was preparing for a fair and supper,and Mrs. Lynde was the head and front of the enterprise.

"Pretty well. . .and that reminds me. Mrs. Allan thinks itwould be nice to fix up a booth like an old-time kitchen andserve a supper of baked beans, doughnuts, pie, and so on. We're collecting old-fashioned fixings everywhere. Mrs.Simon Fletcher is going to lend us her mother's braided rugsand Mrs. Levi Boulter some old chairs and Aunt Mary Shaw willlend us her cupboard with the glass doors. I suppose Marillawill let us have her brass candlesticks? And we want all theold dishes we can get. Mrs. Allan is specially set on havinga real blue willow ware platter if we can find one. But nobodyseems to have one. Do you know where we could get one?"

"Miss Josephine Barry has one. I'll write and ask her if she'lllend it for the occasion," said Anne.

"Well, I wish you would. I guess we'll have the supper in about afortnight's time. Uncle Abe Andrews is prophesying rain and storms forabout that time; and that's a pretty sure sign we'll have fine weather."

The said "Uncle Abe," it may be mentioned, was at least likeother prophets in that he had small honor in his own country.He was, in fact, considered in the light of a standing joke,for few of his weather predictions were ever fulfilled.Mr. Elisha Wright, who labored under the impression thathe was a local wit, used to say that nobody in Avonleaever thought of looking in the Charlottetown dailies forweather probabilities. No; they just asked Uncle Abewhat it was going to be tomorrow and expected the opposite. Nothing daunted, Uncle Abe kept on prophesying.

"We want to have the fair over before the election comes off,"continued Mrs. Lynde, "for the candidates will be sure to come andspend lots of money. The Tories are bribing right and left, so theymight as well be given a chance to spend their money honestly for once."

Anne was a red-hot Conservative, out of loyalty to Matthew'smemory, but she said nothing. She knew better than to getMrs. Lynde started on politics. She had a letter for Marilla,postmarked from a town in British Columbia.

"It's probably from the children's uncle," she said excitedly,when she got home. "Oh, Marilla, I wonder what he says about them."

"The best plan might be to open it and see," said Marilla curtly. A close observer might have thought that she was excited also,but she would rather have died than show it.

Anne tore open the letter and glanced over the somewhat untidy andpoorly written contents.

"He says he can't take the children this spring. . .he's been sickmost of the winter and his wedding is put off. He wants to know ifwe can keep them till the fall and he'll try and take them then. We will, of course, won't we Marilla?"

"I don't see that there is anything else for us to do," saidMarilla rather grimly, although she felt a secret relief."Anyhow they're not so much trouble as they were. . .or elsewe've got used to them. Davy has improved a great deal."

"His MANNERS are certainly much better," said Anne cautiously,as if she were not prepared to say as much for his morals.

Anne had come home from school the previous evening, to findMarilla away at an Aid meeting, Dora asleep on the kitchen sofa,and Davy in the sitting room closet, blissfully absorbing thecontents of a jar of Marilla's famous yellow plum preserves. . ."company jam," Davy called it. . .which he had been forbidden totouch. He looked very guilty when Anne pounced on him and whiskedhim out of the closet.

"Davy Keith, don't you know that it is very wrong of you to beeating that jam, when you were told never to meddle with anythingin THAT closet?"

"Yes, I knew it was wrong," admitted Davy uncomfortably, "but plumjam is awful nice, Anne. I just peeped in and it looked so good Ithought I'd take just a weeny taste. I stuck my finger in. . ."Anne groaned. . ."and licked it clean. And it was so much gooderthan I'd ever thought that I got a spoon and just SAILED IN."

Anne gave him such a serious lecture on the sin of stealing plumjam that Davy became conscience stricken and promised withrepentant kisses never to do it again.

"Anyhow, there'll be plenty of jam in heaven, that's one comfort,"he said complacently.

"But I tell you there is," persisted Davy. "It was in thatquestion Marilla taught me last Sunday. `Why should we love God?'It says, `Because He makes preserves, and redeems us.' Preservesis just a holy way of saying jam."

"I must get a drink of water," said Anne hastily. When she cameback it cost her some time and trouble to explain to Davy that acertain comma in the said catechism question made a great deal ofdifference in the meaning.

"Well, I thought it was too good to be true," he said at last, witha sigh of disappointed conviction. "And besides, I didn't see whenHe'd find time to make jam if it's one endless Sabbath day, as thehymn says. I don't believe I want to go to heaven. Won't thereever be any Saturdays in heaven, Anne?"

"Yes, Saturdays, and every other kind of beautiful days. And everyday in heaven will be more beautiful than the one before it, Davy,"assured Anne, who was rather glad that Marilla was not by to be shocked.Marilla, it is needless to say, was bringing the twins up in the good oldways of theology and discouraged all fanciful speculations thereupon.Davy and Dora were taught a hymn, a catechism question, and twoBible verses every Sunday. Dora learned meekly and recited like alittle machine, with perhaps as much understanding or interest as ifshe were one. Davy, on the contrary, had a lively curiosity, andfrequently asked questions which made Marilla tremble for his fate.

"Chester Sloane says we'll do nothing all the time in heaven butwalk around in white dresses and play on harps; and he says hehopes he won't have to go till he's an old man, 'cause maybe he'lllike it better then. And he thinks it will be horrid to weardresses and I think so too. Why can't men angels wear trousers,Anne? Chester Sloane is interested in those things, 'cause they'regoing to make a minister of him. He's got to be a minister 'causehis grandmother left the money to send him to college and he can'thave it unless he is a minister. She thought a minister was such a'spectable thing to have in a family. Chester says he doesn't mindmuch. . .though he'd rather be a blacksmith. . .but he's bound tohave all the fun he can before he begins to be a minister, 'causehe doesn't expect to have much afterwards. I ain't going to be aminister. I'm going to be a storekeeper, like Mr. Blair, and keepheaps of candy and bananas. But I'd rather like going to your kindof a heaven if they'd let me play a mouth organ instead of a harp.Do you s'pose they would?"

"Yes, I think they would if you wanted it," was all Anne couldtrust herself to say.

The A.V.I.S. met at Mr. Harmon Andrews' that evening and a fullattendance had been requested, since important business was to bediscussed. The A.V.I.S. was in a flourishing condition, and hadalready accomplished wonders. Early in the spring Mr. MajorSpencer had redeemed his promise and had stumped, graded, andseeded down all the road front of his farm. A dozen other men,some prompted by a determination not to let a Spencer get aheadof them, others goaded into action by Improvers in their ownhouseholds, had followed his example. The result was that therewere long strips of smooth velvet turf where once had beenunsightly undergrowth or brush. The farm fronts that had not beendone looked so badly by contrast that their owners were secretlyshamed into resolving to see what they could do another spring. The triangle of ground at the cross roads had also been cleared andseeded down, and Anne's bed of geraniums, unharmed by any maraudingcow, was already set out in the center.

Altogether, the Improvers thought that they were getting onbeautifully, even if Mr. Levi Boulter, tactfully approached by acarefully selected committee in regard to the old house on hisupper farm, did bluntly tell them that he wasn't going to have itmeddled with.

At this especial meeting they intended to draw up a petition to theschool trustees, humbly praying that a fence be put around theschool grounds; and a plan was also to be discussed for planting afew ornamental trees by the church, if the funds of the societywould permit of it. . .for, as Anne said, there was no use instarting another subscription as long as the hall remained blue. The members were assembled in the Andrews' parlor and Jane wasalready on her feet to move the appointment of a committee whichshould find out and report on the price of said trees, when GertiePye swept in, pompadoured and frilled within an inch of her life. Gertie had a habit of being late. . ."to make her entrance moreeffective," spiteful people said. Gertie's entrance in thisinstance was certainly effective, for she paused dramatically onthe middle of the floor, threw up her hands, rolled her eyes,and exclaimed, "I've just heard something perfectly awful.What DO you think? Mr. Judson Parker IS GOING TO RENT ALLTHE ROAD FENCE OF HIS FARM TO A PATENT MEDICINE COMPANY TOPAINT ADVERTISEMENTS ON."

For once in her life Gertie Pye made all the sensation she desired. If she had thrown a bomb among the complacent Improvers she couldhardly have made more.

"It CAN'T be true," said Anne blankly.

"That's just what _I_ said when I heard it first, don't you know,"said Gertie, who was enjoying herself hugely. "_I_ said it couldn'tbe true. . .that Judson Parker wouldn't have the HEART to do it,don't you know. But father met him this afternoon and asked himabout it and he said it WAS true. Just fancy! His farm is side-onto the Newbridge road and how perfectly awful it will look to seeadvertisements of pills and plasters all along it, don't you know?"

The Improvers DID know, all too well. Even the least imaginativeamong them could picture the grotesque effect of half a mile ofboard fence adorned with such advertisements. All thought ofchurch and school grounds vanished before this new danger. Parliamentary rules and regulations were forgotten, and Anne,in despair, gave up trying to keep minutes at all. Everybodytalked at once and fearful was the hubbub.

"Oh, let us keep calm," implored Anne, who was the most excitedof them all, "and try to think of some way of preventing him."

"I don't know how you're going to prevent him," exclaimed Jane bitterly."Everybody knows what Judson Parker is. He'd do ANYTHING for money.He hasn't a SPARK of public spirit or ANY sense of the beautiful."

The prospect looked rather unpromising. Judson Parker and hissister were the only Parkers in Avonlea, so that no leverage couldbe exerted by family connections. Martha Parker was a lady of alltoo certain age who disapproved of young people in general and theImprovers in particular. Judson was a jovial, smooth-spoken man,so uniformly goodnatured and bland that it was surprising how fewfriends he had. Perhaps he had got the better in too many businesstransactions. . .which seldom makes for popularity. He wasreputed to be very "sharp" and it was the general opinion that he"hadn't much principle."

"Is there NOBODY who has any influence over him?" asked Annedespairingly.

"He goes to see Louisa Spencer at White Sands," suggested CarrieSloane. "Perhaps she could coax him not to rent his fences."

"Not she," said Gilbert emphatically. "I know Louisa Spencer well. She doesn't `believe' in Village Improvement Societies, but sheDOES believe in dollars and cents. She'd be more likely to urgeJudson on than to dissuade him."

"The only thing to do is to appoint a committee to wait on him and protest,"said Julia Bell, "and you must send girls, for he'd hardly be civil to boys. . .but _I_ won't go, so nobody need nominate me."

Anne protested. She was willing to go and do the talking; but shemust have others with her "for moral support." Diana and Jane weretherefore appointed to support her morally and the Improvers brokeup, buzzing like angry bees with indignation. Anne was so worriedthat she didn't sleep until nearly morning, and then she dreamedthat the trustees had put a fence around the school and painted"Try Purple Pills" all over it.

The committee waited on Judson Parker the next afternoon. Annepleaded eloquently against his nefarious design and Jane and Dianasupported her morally and valiantly. Judson was sleek, suave, flattering;paid them several compliments of the delicacy of sunflowers;felt real bad to refuse such charming young ladies . . .butbusiness was business; couldn't afford to let sentiment standin the way these hard times.

"But I'll tell what I WILL do," he said, with a twinkle in hislight, full eyes. "I'll tell the agent he must use only handsome,tasty colors. . .red and yellow and so on. I'll tell him hemustn't paint the ads BLUE on any account."

The vanquished committee retired, thinking things not lawful to be uttered.

"We have done all we can do and must simply trust the rest to Providence,"said Jane, with an unconscious imitation of Mrs. Lynde's tone and manner.

"I wonder if Mr. Allan could do anything," reflected Diana.

Anne shook her head.

"No, it's no use to worry Mr. Allan, especially now when the baby'sso sick. Judson would slip away from him as smoothly as from us,although he HAS taken to going to church quite regularly just now.That is simply because Louisa Spencer's father is an elder and veryparticular about such things."

"Judson Parker is the only man in Avonlea who would dream ofrenting his fences," said Jane indignantly. "Even Levi Boulter orLorenzo White would never stoop to that, tightfisted as they are. They would have too much respect for public opinion."

Public opinion was certainly down on Judson Parker when the factsbecame known, but that did not help matters much. Judson chuckledto himself and defied it, and the Improvers were trying toreconcile themselves to the prospect of seeing the prettiest partof the Newbridge road defaced by advertisements, when Anne rosequietly at the president's call for reports of committees on theoccasion of the next meeting of the Society, and announced thatMr. Judson Parker had instructed her to inform the Society that hewas NOT going to rent his fences to the Patent Medicine Company.

Jane and Diana stared as if they found it hard to believe their ears.Parliamentary etiquette, which was generally very strictly enforcedin the A.V.I.S., forbade them giving instant vent to their curiosity,but after the Society adjourned Anne was besieged for explanations.Anne had no explanation to give. Judson Parker had overtaken heron the road the preceding evening and told her that he had decidedto humor the A.V.I.S. in its peculiar prejudice against patentmedicine advertisements. That was all Anne would say, thenor ever afterwards, and it was the simple truth; but whenJane Andrews, on her way home, confided to Oliver Sloane her firmbelief that there was more behind Judson Parker's mysterious changeof heart than Anne Shirley had revealed, she spoke the truth also.

Anne had been down to old Mrs. Irving's on the shore road thepreceding evening and had come home by a short cut which led herfirst over the low-lying shore fields, and then through the beechwood below Robert Dickson's, by a little footpath that ran out tothe main road just above the Lake of Shining Waters. . .known tounimaginative people as Barry's pond.

Two men were sitting in their buggies, reined off to the side ofthe road, just at the entrance of the path. One was Judson Parker;the other was Jerry Corcoran, a Newbridge man against whom, asMrs. Lynde would have told you in eloquent italics, nothing shady hadever been PROVED. He was an agent for agricultural implements anda prominent personage in matters political. He had a finger. . .some people said ALL his fingers. . .in every political pie thatwas cooked; and as Canada was on the eve of a general electionJerry Corcoran had been a busy man for many weeks, canvassing thecounty in the interests of his party's candidate. Just as Anneemerged from under the overhanging beech boughs she heard Corcoransay, "If you'll vote for Amesbury, Parker. . .well, I've a notefor that pair of harrows you've got in the spring. I suppose youwouldn't object to having it back, eh?"

"We. . .ll, since you put it in that way," drawled Judson with agrin, "I reckon I might as well do it. A man must look out for hisown interests in these hard times."

"Thank you, no," said Anne politely, but with a fine, needle-likedisdain in her voice that pierced even Judson Parker's none toosensitive consciousness. His face reddened and he twitched hisreins angrily; but the next second prudential considerationschecked him. He looked uneasily at Anne, as she walked steadily on,glancing neither to the right nor to the left. Had she heard Corcoran'sunmistakable offer and his own too plain acceptance of it?Confound Corcoran! If he couldn't put his meaning into lessdangerous phrases he'd get into trouble some of theselong-come-shorts. And confound redheaded school-ma'ams with ahabit of popping out of beechwoods where they had no business to be.If Anne had heard, Judson Parker, measuring her corn in hisown half bushel, as the country saying went, and cheating himselfthereby, as such people generally do, believed that she would tellit far and wide. Now, Judson Parker, as has been seen, was notoverly regardful of public opinion; but to be known as havingaccepted a bribe would be a nasty thing; and if it ever reachedIsaac Spencer's ears farewell forever to all hope of winning LouisaJane with her comfortable prospects as the heiress of a well-to-dofarmer. Judson Parker knew that Mr. Spencer looked somewhataskance at him as it was; he could not afford to take any risks.

"Ahem. . .Anne, I've been wanting to see you about that littlematter we were discussing the other day. I've decided not to letmy fences to that company after all. A society with an aim likeyours ought to be encouraged."

"I have no intention of mentioning it in any case," said Anne icily,for she would have seen every fence in Avonlea painted withadvertisements before she would have stooped to bargain witha man who would sell his vote.

"Just so. . .just so," agreed Judson, imagining that theyunderstood each other beautifully. "I didn't suppose you would. Of course, I was only stringing Jerry. . .he thinks he's soall-fired cute and smart. I've no intention of voting for Amesbury.I'm going to vote for Grant as I've always done. . .you'll seethat when the election comes off. I just led Jerry on to seeif he would commit himself. And it's all right about the fence. . .you can tell the Improvers that."

"It takes all sorts of people to make a world, as I've often heard,but I think there are some who could be spared," Anne told herreflection in the east gable mirror that night. "I wouldn't havementioned the disgraceful thing to a soul anyhow, so my conscienceis clear on THAT score. I really don't know who or what is to bethanked for this. _I_ did nothing to bring it about, and it's hardto believe that Providence ever works by means of the kind ofpolitics men like Judson Parker and Jerry Corcoran have."

XV

The Beginning of Vacation

Anne locked the schoolhouse door on a still, yellow evening, whenthe winds were purring in the spruces around the playground, andthe shadows were long and lazy by the edge of the woods. Shedropped the key into her pocket with a sigh of satisfaction. Theschool year was ended, she had been reengaged for the next, withmany expressions of satisfaction. . .only Mr. Harmon Andrews toldher she ought to use the strap oftener. . .and two delightfulmonths of a well-earned vacation beckoned her invitingly. Annefelt at peace with the world and herself as she walked down thehill with her basket of flowers in her hand. Since the earliestmayflowers Anne had never missed her weekly pilgrimage to Matthew'sgrave. Everyone else in Avonlea, except Marilla, had alreadyforgotten quiet, shy, unimportant Matthew Cuthbert; but his memorywas still green in Anne's heart and always would be. She couldnever forget the kind old man who had been the first to give herthe love and sympathy her starved childhood had craved.

At the foot of the hill a boy was sitting on the fence in theshadow of the spruces. . .a boy with big, dreamy eyes and abeautiful, sensitive face. He swung down and joined Anne, smiling;but there were traces of tears on his cheeks.

"I thought I'd wait for you, teacher, because I knew you were goingto the graveyard," he said, slipping his hand into hers. "I'm goingthere, too. . .I'm taking this bouquet of geraniums to put onGrandpa Irving's grave for grandma. And look, teacher, I'm goingto put this bunch of white roses beside Grandpa's grave in memory ofmy little mother. . .because I can't go to her grave to put it there.But don't you think she'll know all about it, just the same?"

"Yes, I am sure she will, Paul."

"You see, teacher, it's just three years today since my littlemother died. It's such a long, long time but it hurts just asmuch as ever. . .and I miss her just as much as ever. Sometimesit seems to me that I just can't bear it, it hurts so."

Paul's voice quivered and his lip trembled. He looked down at hisroses, hoping that his teacher would not notice the tears in his eyes.

"And yet," said Anne, very softly, "you wouldn't want it to stop hurting. . .you wouldn't want to forget your little mother even if you could."

"No, indeed, I wouldn't. . .that's just the way I feel. You're sogood at understanding, teacher. Nobody else understands so well. ..not even grandma, although she's so good to me. Father understoodpretty well, but still I couldn't talk much to him about mother,because it made him feel so bad. When he put his hand over his faceI always knew it was time to stop. Poor father, he must be dreadfullylonesome without me; but you see he has nobody but a housekeepernow and he thinks housekeepers are no good to bring up little boys,especially when he has to be away from home so much on business.Grandmothers are better, next to mothers. Someday, when I'm broughtup, I'll go back to father and we're never going to be parted again."

Paul had talked so much to Anne about his mother and father thatshe felt as if she had known them. She thought his mother musthave been very like what he was himself, in temperament anddisposition; and she had an idea that Stephen Irving was a ratherreserved man with a deep and tender nature which he kept hiddenscrupulously from the world.

"Father's not very easy to get acquainted with," Paul had said once."I never got really acquainted with him until after my little mother died.But he's splendid when you do get to know him. I love him the best in allthe world, and Grandma Irving next, and then you, teacher. I'd love younext to father if it wasn't my DUTY to love Grandma Irving best, becauseshe's doing so much for me. YOU know, teacher. I wish she would leavethe lamp in my room till I go to sleep, though. She takes it right outas soon as she tucks me up because she says I mustn't be a coward.I'm NOT scared, but I'd RATHER have the light. My little motherused always to sit beside me and hold my hand till I went to sleep.I expect she spoiled me. Mothers do sometimes, you know."

No, Anne did not know this, although she might imagine it.She thought sadly of HER "little mother," the mother whohad thought her so "perfectly beautiful" and who had diedso long ago and was buried beside her boyish husband inthat unvisited grave far away. Anne could not rememberher mother and for this reason she almost envied Paul.

"My birthday is next week," said Paul, as they walked up the longred hill, basking in the June sunshine, "and father wrote me that heis sending me something that he thinks I'll like better than anythingelse he could send. I believe it has come already, for Grandmais keeping the bookcase drawer locked and that is something new.And when I asked her why, she just looked mysterious and saidlittle boys mustn't be too curious. It's very exciting to have abirthday, isn't it? I'll be eleven. You'd never think it to lookat me, would you? Grandma says I'm very small for my age and thatit's all because I don't eat enough porridge. I do my very best,but Grandma gives such generous platefuls. . .there's nothing meanabout Grandma, I can tell you. Ever since you and I had that talkabout praying going home from Sunday School that day, teacher. . .when you said we ought to pray about all our difficulties. . .I'veprayed every night that God would give me enough grace to enable meto eat every bit of my porridge in the mornings. But I've neverbeen able to do it yet, and whether it's because I have too littlegrace or too much porridge I really can't decide. Grandma saysfather was brought up on porridge, and it certainly did workwell in his case, for you ought to see the shoulders he has.But sometimes," concluded Paul with a sigh and a meditative air"I really think porridge will be the death of me."

Anne permitted herself a smile, since Paul was not looking at her. All Avonlea knew that old Mrs. Irving was bringing her grandson upin accordance with the good, old-fashioned methods of diet and morals.

"Let us hope not, dear," she said cheerfully. "How are your rock peoplecoming on? Does the oldest Twin still continue to behave himself?"

"He HAS to," said Paul emphatically. "He knows I won't associatewith him if he doesn't. He is really full of wickedness, I think."

"And has Nora found out about the Golden Lady yet?"

"No; but I think she suspects. I'm almost sure she watched me thelast time I went to the cave. _I_ don't mind if she finds out. . .it is only for HER sake I don't want her to. . .so that her feelingswon't be hurt. But if she is DETERMINED to have her feelings hurtit can't be helped."

"If I were to go to the shore some night with you do you think Icould see your rock people too?"

Paul shook his head gravely.

"No, I don't think you could see MY rock people. I'm the onlyperson who can see them. But you could see rock people of yourown. You're one of the kind that can. We're both that kind.YOU know, teacher," he added, squeezing her hand chummily."Isn't it splendid to be that kind, teacher?"

and both knew the way to that happy land. There the rose of joybloomed immortal by dale and stream; clouds never darkened thesunny sky; sweet bells never jangled out of tune; and kindredspirits abounded. The knowledge of that land's geography. . ."east o' the sun, west o' the moon". . .is priceless lore, not tobe bought in any market place. It must be the gift of the goodfairies at birth and the years can never deface it or take it away. It is better to possess it, living in a garret, than to be theinhabitant of palaces without it.

The Avonlea graveyard was as yet the grass-grown solitude it hadalways been. To be sure, the Improvers had an eye on it, andPriscilla Grant had read a paper on cemeteries before thelast meeting of the Society. At some future time the Improversmeant to have the lichened, wayward old board fence replaced by aneat wire railing, the grass mown and the leaning monumentsstraightened up.

Anne put on Matthew's grave the flowers she had brought for it, andthen went over to the little poplar shaded corner where Hester Gray slept.Ever since the day of the spring picnic Anne had put flowers on Hester'sgrave when she visited Matthew's. The evening before she had made apilgrimage back to the little deserted garden in the woods and broughttherefrom some of Hester's own white roses.

"I thought you would like them better than any others, dear,"she said softly.

Anne was still sitting there when a shadow fell over the grass andshe looked up to see Mrs. Allan. They walked home together.

Mrs. Allan's face was not the face of the girlbride whom theminister had brought to Avonlea five years before. It had lostsome of its bloom and youthful curves, and there were fine, patientlines about eyes and mouth. A tiny grave in that very cemeteryaccounted for some of them; and some new ones had come during therecent illness, now happily over, of her little son. But Mrs. Allan'sdimples were as sweet and sudden as ever, her eyes as clear and brightand true; and what her face lacked of girlish beauty was now more thanatoned for in added tenderness and strength.

"I suppose you are looking forward to your vacation, Anne?" she said,as they left the graveyard.

Anne nodded.

"Yes.. . .I could roll the word as a sweet morsel under my tongue. I think the summer is going to be lovely. For one thing, Mrs. Morganis coming to the Island in July and Priscilla is going to bring her up.I feel one of my old `thrills' at the mere thought."

"I hope you'll have a good time, Anne. You've worked very hardthis past year and you have succeeded."

"Oh, I don't know. I've come so far short in so many things. Ihaven't done what I meant to do when I began to teach last fall.I haven't lived up to my ideals."

"None of us ever do," said Mrs. Allan with a sigh. "But then, Anne,you know what Lowell says, `Not failure but low aim is crime.'We must have ideals and try to live up to them, even if we neverquite succeed. Life would be a sorry business without them. With them it's grand and great. Hold fast to your ideals, Anne."

"I shall try. But I have to let go most of my theories," said Anne,laughing a little. "I had the most beautiful set of theories you everknew when I started out as a schoolma'am, but every one of them hasfailed me at some pinch or another."

"Even the theory on corporal punishment," teased Mrs. Allan.

But Anne flushed.

"I shall never forgive myself for whipping Anthony."

"Nonsense, dear, he deserved it. And it agreed with him. You havehad no trouble with him since and he has come to think there'snobody like you. Your kindness won his love after the idea that a'girl was no good' was rooted out of his stubborn mind."

"He may have deserved it, but that is not the point. If I hadcalmly and deliberately decided to whip him because I thought it ajust punishment for him I would not feel over it as I do. But thetruth is, Mrs. Allan, that I just flew into a temper and whippedhim because of that. I wasn't thinking whether it was just orunjust. . .even if he hadn't deserved it I'd have done it just thesame. That is what humiliates me."

"Well, we all make mistakes, dear, so just put it behind you. Weshould regret our mistakes and learn from them, but never carrythem forward into the future with us. There goes Gilbert Blythe onhis wheel. . .home for his vacation too, I suppose. How are youand he getting on with your studies?"

"Pretty well. We plan to finish the Virgil tonight. . .there areonly twenty lines to do. Then we are not going to study any moreuntil September."

"Do you think you will ever get to college?"

"Oh, I don't know." Anne looked dreamily afar to the opal-tintedhorizon. "Marilla's eyes will never be much better than they are now,although we are so thankful to think that they will not get worse.And then there are the twins. . .somehow I don't believe their unclewill ever really send for them. Perhaps college may be around the bendin the road, but I haven't got to the bend yet and I don't think muchabout it lest I might grow discontented."

"Well, I should like to see you go to college, Anne; but if younever do, don't be discontented about it. We make our own liveswherever we are, after all. . .college can only help us to do itmore easily. They are broad or narrow according to what we putinto them, not what we get out. Life is rich and full here. . .everywhere. . .if we can only learn how to open our whole heartsto its richness and fulness."

"I think I understand what you mean," said Anne thoughtfully,"and I know I have so much to feel thankful for. . .oh, so much. . .my work, and Paul Irving, and the dear twins, and all my friends.Do you know, Mrs. Allan, I'm so thankful for friendship. Itbeautifies life so much."

"True friendship is a very helpfulul thing indeed," said Mrs. Allan,"and we should have a very high ideal of it, and never sullyit by any failure in truth and sincerity. I fear the name offriendship is often degraded to a kind of intimacy that has nothingof real friendship in it."

"Yes. . .like Gertie Pye's and Julia Bell's. They are very intimateand go everywhere together; but Gertie is always saying nasty thingsof Julia behind her back and everybody thinks she is jealous of herbecause she is always so pleased when anybody criticizes Julia.I think it is desecration to call that friendship. If we havefriends we should look only for the best in them and give themthe best that is in us, don't you think? Then friendship wouldbe the most beautiful thing in the world."

Then she paused abruptly. In the delicate, white-browed facebeside her, with its candid eyes and mobile features, there wasstill far more of the child than of the woman. Anne's heart so farharbored only dreams of friendship and ambition, and Mrs. Allandid not wish to brush the bloom from her sweet unconsciousness.So she left her sentence for the future years to finish.

XVI

The Substance of Things Hoped For

"Anne," said Davy appealingly, scrambling up on the shiny,leather-covered sofa in the Green Gables kitchen, where Anne sat,reading a letter, "Anne, I'm AWFUL hungry. You've no idea."

"I'll get you a piece of bread and butter in a minute," said Anneabsently. Her letter evidently contained some exciting news, forher cheeks were as pink as the roses on the big bush outside, andher eyes were as starry as only Anne's eyes could be.

"Oh," laughed Anne, laying down her letter and putting her armabout Davy to give him a squeeze, "that's a kind of hunger that canbe endured very comfortably, Davy-boy. You know it's one ofMarilla's rules that you can't have anything but bread and butterbetween meals."

"Well, gimme a piece then. . .please."

Davy had been at last taught to say "please," but he generallytacked it on as an afterthought. He looked with approval at thegenerous slice Anne presently brought to him. "You always put sucha nice lot of butter on it, Anne. Marilla spreads it pretty thin. It slips down a lot easier when there's plenty of butter."

The slice "slipped down" with tolerable ease, judging from itsrapid disappearance. Davy slid head first off the sofa, turned adouble somersault on the rug, and then sat up and announced decidedly,

"Anne, I've made up my mind about heaven. I don't want to go there."

"Why not?" asked Anne gravely.

"Cause heaven is in Simon Fletcher's garret, and I don't likeSimon Fletcher."

"Milty Boulter says that's where it is. It was last Sunday inSunday School. The lesson was about Elijah and Elisha, and I upand asked Miss Rogerson where heaven was. Miss Rogerson lookedawful offended. She was cross anyhow, because when she'd asked uswhat Elijah left Elisha when he went to heaven Milty Boulter said,`His old clo'es,' and us fellows all laughed before we thought. Iwish you could think first and do things afterwards, 'cause thenyou wouldn't do them. But Milty didn't mean to be disrespeckful. He just couldn't think of the name of the thing. Miss Rogerson saidheaven was where God was and I wasn't to ask questions like that.Milty nudged me and said in a whisper, `Heaven's in Uncle Simon'sgarret and I'll esplain about it on the road home.' So whenwe was coming home he esplained. Milty's a great hand atesplaining things. Even if he don't know anything about a thinghe'll make up a lot of stuff and so you get it esplained all thesame. His mother is Mrs. Simon's sister and he went with her tothe funeral when his cousin, Jane Ellen, died. The minister saidshe'd gone to heaven, though Milty says she was lying right beforethem in the coffin. But he s'posed they carried the coffin to thegarret afterwards. Well, when Milty and his mother went upstairsafter it was all over to get her bonnet he asked her where heavenwas that Jane Ellen had gone to, and she pointed right to theceiling and said, `Up there.' Milty knew there wasn't anything butthe garret over the ceiling, so that's how HE found out. And he'sbeen awful scared to go to his Uncle Simon's ever since."

Anne took Davy on her knee and did her best to straighten out thistheological tangle also. She was much better fitted for the taskthan Marilla, for she remembered her own childhood and had aninstinctive understanding of the curious ideas that seven-year-oldssometimes get about matters that are, of course, very plain andsimple to grown up people. She had just succeeded in convincingDavy that heaven was NOT in Simon Fletcher's garret when Marillacame in from the garden, where she and Dora had been picking peas. Dora was an industrious little soul and never happier than when"helping" in various small tasks suited to her chubby fingers. Shefed chickens, picked up chips, wiped dishes, and ran errands galore.She was neat, faithful and observant; she never had to be told howto do a thing twice and never forgot any of her little duties.Davy, on the other hand, was rather heedless and forgetful; buthe had the born knack of winning love, and even yet Anne and Marillaliked him the better.

While Dora proudly shelled the peas and Davy made boats of the pods,with masts of matches and sails of paper, Anne told Marilla aboutthe wonderful contents of her letter.

"Oh, Marilla, what do you think? I've had a letter from Priscillaand she says that Mrs. Morgan is on the Island, and that if it isfine Thursday they are going to drive up to Avonlea and will reachhere about twelve. They will spend the afternoon with us and go tothe hotel at White Sands in the evening, because some of Mrs. Morgan'sAmerican friends are staying there. Oh, Marilla, isn't it wonderful?I can hardly believe I'm not dreaming."

"I daresay Mrs. Morgan is a lot like other people," said Marilla drily,although she did feel a trifle excited herself. Mrs. Morgan was afamous woman and a visit from her was no commonplace occurrence."They'll be here to dinner, then?"

"Yes; and oh, Marilla, may I cook every bit of the dinner myself?I want to feel that I can do something for the author of `TheRosebud Garden,' if it is only to cook a dinner for her.You won't mind, will you?"

"Goodness, I'm not so fond of stewing over a hot fire in July thatit would vex me very much to have someone else do it. You're quitewelcome to the job."

"Oh, thank you," said Anne, as if Marilla had just conferred atremendous favor, "I'll make out the menu this very night."

"You'd better not try to put on too much style," warned Marilla,a little alarmed by the high-flown sound of "menu." You'll likelycome to grief if you do."

"Oh, I'm not going to put on any `style,' if you mean trying to do orhave things we don't usually have on festal occasions," assured Anne."That would be affectation, and, although I know I haven't as muchsense and steadiness as a girl of seventeen and a schoolteacherought to have, I'm not so silly AS that. But I want to haveeverything as nice and dainty as possible. Davy-boy, don't leavethose peapods on the back stairs. . .someone might slip on them.I'll have a light soup to begin with. . .you know I can makelovely cream-of-onion soup. . .and then a couple of roast fowls.I'll have the two white roosters. I have real affection forthose roosters and they've been pets ever since the gray henhatched out just the two of them. . .little balls of yellow down. But I know they would have to be sacrificed sometime, and surelythere couldn't be a worthier occasion than this. But oh, Marilla,_I_ cannot kill them. . .not even for Mrs. Morgan's sake. I'll haveto ask John Henry Carter to come over and do it for me."

"I'll do it," volunteered Davy, "if Marilla'll hold them by the legs"cause I guess it'd take both my hands to manage the axe. It's awfuljolly fun to see them hopping about after their heads are cut off."

"Then I'll have peas and beans and creamed potatoes and alettuce salad, for vegetables," resumed Anne, "and for dessert,lemon pie with whipped cream, and coffee and cheese and lady fingers.I'll make the pies and lady fingers tomorrow and do up my white muslindress. And I must tell Diana tonight, for she'll want to do up hers.Mrs. Morgan's heroines are nearly always dressed in white muslin,and Diana and I have always resolved that that was what wewould wear if we ever met her. It will be such a delicatecompliment, don't you think? Davy, dear, you mustn't poke peapodsinto the cracks of the floor. I must ask Mr. and Mrs. Allan andMiss Stacy to dinner, too, for they're all very anxious to meetMrs. Morgan. It's so fortunate she's coming while Miss Stacy is here.Davy dear, don't sail the peapods in the water bucket. . .go out tothe trough. Oh, I do hope it will be fine Thursday, and I think itwill, for Uncle Abe said last night when he called at Mr. Harrison's,that it was going to rain most of this week."

"That's a good sign," agreed Marilla.

Anne ran across to Orchard Slope that evening to tell the news to Diana,who was also very much excited over it, and they discussed the matterin the hammock swung under the big willow in the Barry garden.

"Oh, Anne, mayn't I help you cook the dinner?" implored Diana. "You know I can make splendid lettuce salad."

"Indeed you, may" said Anne unselfishly. "And I shall want you tohelp me decorate too. I mean to have the parlor simply a BOWER ofblossoms. . .and the dining table is to be adorned with wild roses.Oh, I do hope everything will go smoothly. Mrs. Morgan's heroinesNEVER get into scrapes or are taken at a disadvantage, and theyare always so selfpossessed and such good housekeepers. They seemto be BORN good housekeepers. You remember that Gertrude in`Edgewood Days' kept house for her father when she was only eightyears old. When I was eight years old I hardly knew how to do athing except bring up children. Mrs. Morgan must be an authorityon girls when she has written so much about them, and I do want herto have a good opinion of us. I've imagined it all out a dozendifferent ways. . .what she'll look like, and what she'll say, andwhat I'll say. And I'm so anxious about my nose. There are sevenfreckles on it, as you can see. They came at the A.V.I S. picnic,when I went around in the sun without my hat. I suppose it'sungrateful of me to worry over them, when I should be thankfulthey're not spread all over my face as they once were; but I dowish they hadn't come. . .all Mrs. Morgan's heroines have suchperfect complexions. I can't recall a freckled one among them."

"Yours are not very noticeable," comforted Diana. "Try a littlelemon juice on them tonight."

The next day Anne made her pies and lady fingers, did up her muslindress, and swept and dusted every room in the house. . .a quiteunnecessary proceeding, for Green Gables was, as usual, in theapple pie order dear to Marilla's heart. But Anne felt that afleck of dust would be a desecration in a house that was to behonored by a visit from Charlotte E. Morgan. She even cleaned outthe "catch-all" closet under the stairs, although there was not theremotest possibility of Mrs. Morgan's seeing its interior.

"But I want to FEEL that it is in perfect order, even if she isn'tto see it," Anne told Marilla. "You know, in her book `Golden Keys,'she makes her two heroines Alice and Louisa take for their mottothat verse of Longfellow's,

"`In the elder days of art Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part, For the gods see everywhere,'

and so they always kept their cellar stairs scrubbed and neverforgot to sweep under the beds. I should have a guilty conscienceif I thought this closet was in disorder when Mrs. Morgan was inthe house. Ever since we read `Golden Keys,' last April, Diana andI have taken that verse for our motto too."

That night John Henry Carter and Davy between them contrived to executethe two white roosters, and Anne dressed them, the usually distastefultask glorified in her eyes by the destination of the plump birds.

"I don't like picking fowls," she told Marilla, "but isn't it fortunatewe don't have to put our souls into what our hands may be doing?I've been picking chickens with my hands but in imagination I'vebeen roaming the Milky Way."

"I thought you'd scattered more feathers over the floor than usual,"remarked Marilla.

Then Anne put Davy to bed and made him promise that he would behaveperfectly the next day.

"If I'm as good as good can be all day tomorrow will you let me bejust as bad as I like all the next day?" asked Davy.

"I couldn't do that," said Anne discreetly, "but I'll take you andDora for a row in the flat right to the bottom of the pond, andwe'll go ashore on the sandhills and have a picnic."

"It's a bargain," said Davy. "I'll be good, you bet. I meant togo over to Mr. Harrison's and fire peas from my new popgun atGinger but another day'll do as well. I espect it will be justlike Sunday, but a picnic at the shore'll make up for THAT."

XVII

A Chapter of Accidents

Anne woke three times in the night and made pilgrimages to herwindow to make sure that Uncle Abe's prediction was not coming true.Finally the morning dawned pearly and lustrous in a sky full ofsilver sheen and radiance, and the wonderful day had arrived.

Diana appeared soon after breakfast, with a basket of flowers overone arm and HER muslin dress over the other. . .for it would notdo to don it until all the dinner preparations were completed. Meanwhile she wore her afternoon pink print and a lawn apronfearfully and wonderfully ruffled and frilled; and very neat andpretty and rosy she was.

"You look simply sweet," said Anne admiringly.

Diana sighed.

"But I've had to let out every one of my dresses AGAIN. I weighfour pounds more than I did in July. Anne, WHERE will this end?Mrs. Morgan's heroines are all tall and slender."

"Well, let's forget our troubles and think of our mercies," saidAnne gaily. "Mrs. Allan says that whenever we think of anythingthat is a trial to us we should also think of something nice thatwe can set over against it. If you are slightly too plump you'vegot the dearest dimples; and if I have a freckled nose the SHAPE ofit is all right. Do you think the lemon juice did any good?"

"Yes, I really think it did," said Diana critically; and, muchelated, Anne led the way to the garden, which was full of airyshadows and wavering golden lights.

"We'll decorate the parlor first. We have plenty of time, forPriscilla said they'd be here about twelve or half past at thelatest, so we'll have dinner at one."

There may have been two happier and more excited girls somewherein Canada or the United States at that moment, but I doubt it.Every snip of the scissors, as rose and peony and bluebell fell,seemed to chirp, "Mrs. Morgan is coming today." Anne wonderedhow Mr. Harrison COULD go on placidly mowing hay in the fieldacross the lane, just as if nothing were going to happen.

The parlor at Green Gables was a rather severe and gloomy apartment,with rigid horsehair furniture, stiff lace curtains, and whiteantimacassars that were always laid at a perfectly correct angle,except at such times as they clung to unfortunate people's buttons.Even Anne had never been able to infuse much grace into it, forMarilla would not permit any alterations. But it is wonderfulwhat flowers can accomplish if you give them a fair chance;when Anne and Diana finished with the room you would not haverecognized it.

A great blue bowlful of snowballs overflowed on the polished table. The shining black mantelpiece was heaped with roses and ferns. Every shelf of the what-not held a sheaf of bluebells; the darkcorners on either side of the grate were lighted up with jars fullof glowing crimson peonies, and the grate itself was aflame withyellow poppies. All this splendor and color, mingled with thesunshine falling through the honeysuckle vines at the windows in aleafy riot of dancing shadows over walls and floor, made of theusually dismal little room the veritable "bower" of Anne'simagination, and even extorted a tribute of admiration fromMarilla, who came in to criticize and remained to praise.

"Now, we must set the table," said Anne, in the tone of a priestessabout to perform some sacred rite in honor of a divinity. "We'llhave a big vaseful of wild roses in the center and one single rosein front of everybody's plate -- and a special bouquet of rosebudsonly by Mrs. Morgan's -- an allusion to `The Rosebud Garden' you know."

The table was set in the sitting room, with Marilla's finest linenand the best china, glass, and silver. You may be perfectlycertain that every article placed on it was polished or scoured tothe highest possible perfection of gloss and glitter.

Then the girls tripped out to the kitchen, which was filled withappetizing odors emanating from the oven, where the chickens werealready sizzling splendidly. Anne prepared the potatoes and Dianagot the peas and beans ready. Then, while Diana shut herself intothe pantry to compound the lettuce salad, Anne, whose cheeks werealready beginning to glow crimson, as much with excitement as fromthe heat of the fire, prepared the bread sauce for the chickens,minced her onions for the soup, and finally whipped the cream forher lemon pies.

And what about Davy all this time? Was he redeeming his promise tobe good? He was, indeed. To be sure, he insisted on remaining inthe kitchen, for his curiosity wanted to see all that went on. Butas he sat quietly in a corner, busily engaged in untying the knotsin a piece of herring net he had brought home from his last trip tothe shore, nobody objected to this.

At half past eleven the lettuce salad was made, the golden circlesof the pies were heaped with whipped cream, and everything wassizzling and bubbling that ought to sizzle and bubble.

"We'd better go and dress now," said Anne, "for they may be here by twelve.We must have dinner at sharp one, for the soup must be served as soon asit's done."

Serious indeed were the toilet rites presently performed in theeast gable. Anne peered anxiously at her nose and rejoiced to seethat its freckles were not at all prominent, thanks either to thelemon juice or to the unusual flush on her cheeks. When they wereready they looked quite as sweet and trim and girlish as ever didany of "Mrs. Morgan's heroines."

"I do hope I'll be able to say something once in a while, and notsit like a mute," said Diana anxiously. "All Mrs. Morgan'sheroines converse so beautifully. But I'm afraid I'll betongue-tied and stupid. And I'll be sure to say `I seen.'I haven't often said it since Miss Stacy taught here; but inmoments of excitement it's sure to pop out. Anne, if I wereto say `I seen' before Mrs. Morgan I'd die of mortification.And it would be almost as bad to have nothing to say."

"I'm nervous about a good many things," said Anne, "but Idon't think there is much fear that I won't be able to talk."

And, to do her justice, there wasn't.

Anne shrouded her muslin glories in a big apron and went down toconcoct her soup. Marilla had dressed herself and the twins, andlooked more excited than she had ever been known to look before. At half past twelve the Allans and Miss Stacy came. Everything wasgoing well but Anne was beginning to feel nervous. It was surelytime for Priscilla and Mrs. Morgan to arrive. She made frequenttrips to the gate and looked as anxiously down the lane as ever hernamesake in the Bluebeard story peered from the tower casement.

"Suppose they don't come at all?" she said piteously.

"Don't suppose it. It would be too mean," said Diana, who, however,was beginning to have uncomfortable misgivings on the subject.

"Anne," said Marilla, coming out from the parlor, "Miss Stacy wantsto see Miss Barry's willowware platter."

Anne hastened to the sitting room closet to get the platter. Shehad, in accordance with her promise to Mrs. Lynde, written to MissBarry of Charlottetown, asking for the loan of it. Miss Barry wasan old friend of Anne's, and she promply sent the platter out, witha letter exhorting Anne to be very careful of it, for she had paidtwenty dollars for it. The platter had served its purpose at theAid bazaar and had then been returned to the Green Gables closet,for Anne would not trust anybody but herself to take it back to town.

She carried the platter carefully to the front door where herguests were enjoying the cool breeze that blew up from the brook. It was examined and admired; then, just as Anne had taken it backinto her own hands, a terrific crash and clatter sounded from thekitchen pantry. Marilla, Diana, and Anne fled out, the latterpausing only long enough to set the precious platter hastily downon the second step of the stairs.

When they reached the pantry a truly harrowing spectacle met theireyes. . .a guilty looking small boy scrambling down from thetable, with his clean print blouse liberally plastered with yellowfilling, and on the table the shattered remnants of what had beentwo brave, becreamed lemon pies.

Davy had finished ravelling out his herring net and had wound thetwine into a ball. Then he had gone into the pantry to put it upon the shelf above the table, where he already kept a score or soof similar balls, which, so far as could be discovered, served nouseful purpose save to yield the joy of possession. Davy had toclimb on the table and reach over to the shelf at a dangerousangle. . .something he had been forbidden by Marilla to do, as hehad come to grief once before in the experiment. The result inthis instance was disastrous. Davy slipped and came sprawlingsquarely down on the lemon pies. His clean blouse was ruined forthat time and the pies for all time. It is, however, an ill windthat blows nobody good, and the pig was eventually the gainer byDavy's mischance.

"Davy Keith," said Marilla, shaking him by the shoulder, "didn't Iforbid you to climb up on that table again? Didn't I?"

"I forgot," whimpered Davy. "You've told me not to do such anawful lot of things that I can't remember them all."

"Well, you march upstairs and stay there till after dinner. Perhaps you'll get them sorted out in your memory by that time. No, Anne, never you mind interceding for him. I'm not punishinghim because he spoiled your pies. . .that was an accident.I'm punishing him for his disobedience. Go, Davy, I say."

"Ain't I to have any dinner?" wailed Davy.

"You can come down after dinner is over and have yours in the kitchen."

"Oh, all right," said Davy, somewhat comforted. "I know Anne'llsave some nice bones for me, won't you, Anne? 'Cause you know Ididn't mean to fall on the pies. Say, Anne, since they ARE spoiledcan't I take some of the pieces upstairs with me?"

What shall we do for dessert?" asked Anne, looking regretfully atthe wreck and ruin.

"Get out a crock of strawberry preserves," said Marilla consolingly."There's plenty of whipped cream left in the bowl for it."

One o'clock came. . .but no Priscilla or Mrs. Morgan. Anne was inan agony. Everything was done to a turn and the soup was justwhat soup should be, but couldn't be depended on to remain so forany length of time.

"I don't believe they're coming after all," said Marilla crossly.

Anne and Diana sought comfort in each other's eyes.

At half past one Marilla again emerged from the parlor.

"Girls, we MUST have dinner. Everybody is hungry and it's no usewaiting any longer. Priscilla and Mrs. Morgan are not coming,that's plain, and nothing is being improved by waiting."

Anne and Diana set about lifting the dinner, with all the zest goneout of the performance.

"I don't believe I'll be able to eat a mouthful," said Diana dolefully.

"Nor I. But I hope everything will be nice for Miss Stacy's andMr. and Mrs. Allan's sakes," said Anne listlessly.

When Diana dished the peas she tasted them and a very peculiarexpression crossed her face.

"Anne, did YOU put sugar in these peas?"

"Yes," said Anne, mashing the potatoes with the air of one expectedto do her duty. "I put a spoonful of sugar in. We always do. Don't you like it?"

"But _I_ put a spoonful in too, when I set them on the stove," said Diana.

Anne dropped her masher and tasted the peas also. Then she made a grimace.

"How awful! I never dreamed you had put sugar in, because I knewyour mother never does. I happened to think of it, for a wonder. . .I'm always forgetting it. . .so I popped a spoonful in."

"It's a case of too many cooks, I guess," said Marilla, whohad listened to this dialogue with a rather guilty expression."I didn't think you'd remember about the sugar, Anne, for I'mperfectly certain you never did before. . .so _I_ put in a spoonful."

The guests in the parlor heard peal after peal of laughter from thekitchen, but they never knew what the fun was about. There were nogreen peas on the dinner table that day, however.

"Well," said Anne, sobering down again with a sigh of recollection,"we have the salad anyhow and I don't think anything has happenedto the beans. Let's carry the things in and get it over."

It cannot be said that that dinner was a notable success socially. The Allans and Miss Stacy exerted themselves to save the situationand Marilla's customary placidity was not noticeably ruffled.But Anne and Diana, between their disappointment and the reactionfrom their excitement of the forenoon, could neither talk nor eat.Anne tried heroically to bear her part in the conversation for thesake of her guests; but all the sparkle had been quenched in herfor the time being, and, in spite of her love for the Allans andMiss Stacy, she couldn't help thinking how nice it would be wheneverybody had gone home and she could bury her weariness anddisappointment in the pillows of the east gable.

There is an old proverb that really seems at times to be inspired. . ."it never rains but it pours." The measure of that day'stribulations was not yet full. Just as Mr. Allan had finishedreturning thanks there arose a strange, ominous sound on thestairs, as of some hard, heavy object bounding from step to step,finishing up with a grand smash at the bottom. Everybody ran outinto the hall. Anne gave a shriek of dismay.

At the bottom of the stairs lay a big pink conch shell amid thefragments of what had been Miss Barry's platter; and at the top ofthe stairs knelt a terrified Davy, gazing down with wide-open eyesat the havoc.

"Davy," said Marilla ominously, "did you throw that conch down ON PURPOSE?"

"No, I never did," whimpered Davy. "I was just kneeling here,quiet as quiet, to watch you folks through the bannisters, and myfoot struck that old thing and pushed it off. . .and I'm awfulhungry. . .and I do wish you'd lick a fellow and have done with it,instead of always sending him upstairs to miss all the fun."

"Don't blame Davy," said Anne, gathering up the fragments withtrembling fingers. "It was my fault. I set that platter there andforgot all about it. I am properly punished for my carelessness;but oh, what will Miss Barry say?"

"Well, you know she only bought it, so it isn't the same as if itwas an heirloom," said Diana, trying to console.

The guests went away soon after, feeling that it was the most tactfulthing to do, and Anne and Diana washed the dishes, talking less thanthey had ever been known to do before. Then Diana went home with aheadache and Anne went with another to the east gable, where shestayed until Marilla came home from the post office at sunset,with a letter from Priscilla, written the day before. Mrs. Morganhad sprained her ankle so severely that she could not leave her room.

"And oh, Anne dear," wrote Priscilla, "I'm so sorry, but I'm afraidwe won't get up to Green Gables at all now, for by the time Aunty'sankle is well she will have to go back to Toronto. She has to bethere by a certain date."

"Well," sighed Anne, laying the letter down on the red sandstonestep of the back porch, where she was sitting, while the twilightrained down out of a dappled sky, "I always thought it was too goodto be true that Mrs. Morgan should really come. But there. . .thatspeech sounds as pessimistic as Miss Eliza Andrews and I'm ashamedof making it. After all, it was NOT too good to be true. . .thingsjust as good and far better are coming true for me all the time.And I suppose the events of today have a funny side too. Perhaps when Diana and I are old and gray we shall be ableto laugh over them. But I feel that I can't expect to do itbefore then, for it has truly been a bitter disappointment."

"You'll probably have a good many more and worse disappointmentsthan that before you get through life," said Marilla, who honestlythought she was making a comforting speech. "It seems to me, Anne,that you are never going to outgrow your fashion of setting yourheart so on things and then crashing down into despair because youdon't get them."

"I know I'm too much inclined that, way" agreed Anne ruefully."When I think something nice is going to happen I seem to fly rightup on the wings of anticipation; and then the first thing I realizeI drop down to earth with a thud. But really, Marilla, the flyingpart IS glorious as long as it lasts. . .it's like soaring througha sunset. I think it almost pays for the thud."

"Well, maybe it does," admitted Marilla. "I'd rather walk calmlyalong and do without both flying and thud. But everybody has herown way of living. . .I used to think there was only one right way. . .but since I've had you and the twins to bring up I don't feelso sure of it. What are you going to do about Miss Barry's platter?"

"Pay her back the twenty dollars she paid for it, I suppose.I'm so thankful it wasn't a cherished heirloom because thenno money could replace it."

"Maybe you could find one like it somewhere and buy it for her."

"I'm afraid not. Platters as old as that are very scarce. Mrs.Lynde couldn't find one anywhere for the supper. I only wish Icould, for of course Miss Barry would just as soon have one platteras another, if both were equally old and genuine. Marilla, look atthat big star over Mr. Harrison's maple grove, with all that holyhush of silvery sky about it. It gives me a feeling that is likea prayer. After all, when one can see stars and skies like that,little disappointments and accidents can't matter so much, can they?"

"Where's Davy?" said Marilla, with an indifferent glance at the star.

"In bed. I've promised to take him and Dora to the shore for apicnic tomorrow. Of course, the original agreement was that hemust be good. But he TRIED to be good. . .and I hadn't the heartto disappoint him."

"You'll drown yourself or the twins, rowing about the pond in that flat,"grumbled Marilla. "I've lived here for sixty years and I've never beenon the pond yet."

"Well, it's never too late to mend," said Anne roguishly."Suppose you come with us tomorrow. We'll shut Green Gables upand spend the whole day at the shore, daffing the world aside."

"No, thank you," said Marilla, with indignant emphasis. "I'd be anice sight, wouldn't I, rowing down the pond in a flat? I think Ihear Rachel pronouncing on it. There's Mr. Harrison driving awaysomewhere. Do you suppose there is any truth in the gossip thatMr. Harrison is going to see Isabella Andrews?"

"No, I'm sure there isn't. He just called there one eveningon business with Mr. Harmon Andrews and Mrs. Lynde saw him andsaid she knew he was courting because he had a white collar on.I don't believe Mr. Harrison will ever marry. He seems to havea prejudice against marriage."

"Well, you can never tell about those old bachelors. And if he hada white collar on I'd agree with Rachel that it looks suspicious,for I'm sure he never was seen with one before."

"I think he only put it on because he wanted to conclude a businessdeal with Harmon Andrews," said Anne. "I've heard him say that'sthe only time a man needs to be particular about his appearance,because if he looks prosperous the party of the second part won'tbe so likely to try to cheat him. I really feel sorry for Mr.Harrison; I don't believe he feels satisfied with his life. Itmust be very lonely to have no one to care about except a parrot,don't you think? But I notice Mr. Harrison doesn't like to bepitied. Nobody does, I imagine."

"There's Gilbert coming up the lane," said Marilla. "If he wantsyou to go for a row on the pond mind you put on your coat andrubbers. There's a heavy dew tonight."

XVIII

An Adventure on the Tory Road

"Anne," said Davy, sitting up in bed and propping his chin onhis hands, "Anne, where is sleep? People go to sleep every night,and of course I know it's the place where I do the things I dream,but I want to know WHERE it is and how I get there and back withoutknowing anything about it. . .and in my nighty too. Where is it?"

Anne was kneeling at the west gable window watching the sunset sky thatwas like a great flower with petals of crocus and a heart of fiery yellow.She turned her head at Davy's question and answered dreamily,

"`Over the mountains of the moon, Down the valley of the shadow.'"

Paul Irving would have known the meaning of this, or made a meaningout of it for himself, if he didn't; but practical Davy, who, asAnne often despairingly remarked, hadn't a particle of imagination,was only puzzled and disgusted.

"Anne, I believe you're just talking nonsense."

"Of course, I was, dear boy. Don't you know that it is only veryfoolish folk who talk sense all the time?"

"Well, I think you might give a sensible answer when I ask asensible question," said Davy in an injured tone.

"Oh, you are too little to understand," said Anne. But she felt ratherashamed of saying it; for had she not, in keen remembrance of manysimilar snubs administered in her own early years, solemnly vowedthat she would never tell any child it was too little to understand?Yet here she was doing it. . .so wide sometimes is the gulf betweentheory and practice.

"Well, I'm doing my best to grow," said Davy, "but it's a thing youcan't hurry much. If Marilla wasn't so stingy with her jam I believeI'd grow a lot faster."

"Marilla is not stingy, Davy," said Anne severely. "It is veryungrateful of you to say such a thing."

"There's another word that means the same thing and sounds a lotbetter, but I don't just remember it," said Davy, frowning intently."I heard Marilla say she was it, herself, the other day."

"If you mean ECONOMICAL, it's a VERY different thing from being stingy.It is an excellent trait in a person if she is economical. If Marilla had been stingy she wouldn't have taken you and Dorawhen your mother died. Would you have liked to live with Mrs. Wiggins?"

"You just bet I wouldn't!" Davy was emphatic on that point. "Nor Idon't want to go out to Uncle Richard neither. I'd far rather livehere, even if Marilla is that long-tailed word when it comes to jam,'cause YOU'RE here, Anne. Say, Anne, won't you tell me a story'fore I go to sleep? I don't want a fairy story. They're allright for girls, I s'pose, but I want something exciting. . .lotsof killing and shooting in it, and a house on fire, and in'trustingthings like that."

Fortunately for Anne, Marilla called out at this moment from her room.

"Anne, Diana's signaling at a great rate. You'd better see what she wants."

Anne ran to the east gable and saw flashes of light coming throughthe twilight from Diana's window in groups of five, which meant,according to their old childish code, "Come over at once for I havesomething important to reveal." Anne threw her white shawl over herhead and hastened through the Haunted Wood and across Mr. Bell'spasture corner to Orchard Slope.

"I've good news for you, Anne," said Diana. "Mother and I havejust got home from Carmody, and I saw Mary Sentner from Spencervale in Mr. Blair's store. She says the old Copp girls on theTory Road have a willow-ware platter and she thinks it's exactlylike the one we had at the supper. She says they'll likely sell it,for Martha Copp has never been known to keep anything she COULD sell;but if they won't there's a platter at Wesley Keyson's at Spencervaleand she knows they'd sell it, but she isn't sure it's just the samekind as Aunt Josephine's."

"I'll go right over to Spencervale after it tomorrow," said Anneresolutely, "and you must come with me. It will be such a weightoff my mind, for I have to go to town day after tomorrow and howcan I face your Aunt Josephine without a willow-ware platter?It would be even worse than the time I had to confess aboutjumping on the spare room bed."

Both girls laughed over the old memory. . .concerning which, ifany of my readers are ignorant and curious, I must refer them toAnne's earlier history.

The next afternoon the girls fared forth on their platter huntingexpedition. It was ten miles to Spencervale and the day was notespecially pleasant for traveling. It was very warm and windless,and the dust on the road was such as might have been expected aftersix weeks of dry weather.

"Oh, I do wish it would rain soon," sighed Anne. "Everything is soparched up. The poor fields just seem pitiful to me and the treesseem to be stretching out their hands pleading for rain. As for mygarden, it hurts me every time I go into it. I suppose I shouldn'tcomplain about a garden when the farmers' crops are suffering so. Mr. Harrison says his pastures are so scorched up that his poorcows can hardly get a bite to eat and he feels guilty of crueltyto animals every time he meets their eyes."

After a wearisome drive the girls reached Spencervale and turneddown the "Tory" Road. . .a green, solitary highway where the stripsof grass between the wheel tracks bore evidence to lack of travel.Along most of its extent it was lined with thick-set young sprucescrowding down to the roadway, with here and there a break where theback field of a Spencervale farm came out to the fence or an expanseof stumps was aflame with fireweed and goldenrod.

"Why is it called the Tory Road?" asked Anne.

"Mr. Allan says it is on the principle of calling a place a grovebecause there are no trees in it," said Diana, "for nobody livesalong the road except the Copp girls and old Martin Bovyer at thefurther end, who is a Liberal. The Tory government ran the roadthrough when they were in power just to show they were doing something."

Diana's father was a Liberal, for which reason she and Anne neverdiscussed politics. Green Gables folk had always been Conservatives.

Finally the girls came to the old Copp homestead. . .a place ofsuch exceeding external neatness that even Green Gables would havesuffered by contrast. The house was a very old-fashioned one,situated on a slope, which fact had necessitated the building of astone basement under one end. The house and out-buildings were allwhitewashed to a condition of blinding perfection and not a weedwas visible in the prim kitchen garden surrounded by its white paling.

"The shades are all down," said Diana ruefully. "I believe that nobodyis home."

This proved to be the case. The girls looked at each other in perplexity.

"I don't know what to do," said Anne. "If I were sure the platterwas the right kind I would not mind waiting until they came home. But if it isn't it may be too late to go to Wesley Keyson'safterward."

Diana looked at a certain little square window over the basement.

"That is the pantry window, I feel sure," she said, "because thishouse is just like Uncle Charles' at Newbridge, and that is theirpantry window. The shade isn't down, so if we climbed up on theroof of that little house we could look into the pantry and mightbe able to see the platter. Do you think it would be any harm?"

"No, I don't think so," decided Anne, after due reflection, "sinceour motive is not idle curiosity."

This important point of ethics being settled, Anne prepared to mount theaforesaid "little house," a construction of lathes, with a peaked roof,which had in times past served as a habitation for ducks. The Copp girlshad given up keeping ducks. . ."because they were such untidy birds". . .and the house had not been in use for some years, save as an abode ofcorrection for setting hens. Although scrupulously whitewashed it hadbecome somewhat shaky, and Anne felt rather dubious as she scrambled upfrom the vantage point of a keg placed on a box.

"I'm afraid it won't bear my weight," she said as she gingerlystepped on the roof.

"Lean on the window sill," advised Diana, and Anne accordingly leaned.Much to her delight, she saw, as she peered through the pane,a willow-ware platter, exactly such as she was in quest of,on the shelf in front of the window. So much she saw before thecatastrophe came. In her joy Anne forgot the precarious natureof her footing, incautiously ceased to lean on the window sill,gave an impulsive little hop of pleasure. . .and the next moment shehad crashed through the roof up to her armpits, and there she hung,quite unable to extricate herself. Diana dashed into the duckhouse and, seizing her unfortunate friend by the waist, tried todraw her down.

"Ow. . .don't," shrieked poor Anne. "There are some longsplinters sticking into me. See if you can put something under myfeet. . .then perhaps I can draw myself up."

Diana hastily dragged in the previously mentioned keg and Annefound that it was just sufficiently high to furnish a secureresting place for her feet. But she could not release herself.

"Could I pull you out if I crawled up?" suggested Diana.

Anne shook her head hopelessly.

"No. . .the splinters hurt too badly. If you can find an axe youmight chop me out, though. Oh dear, I do really begin to believethat I was born under an ill-omened star."

Diana searched faithfully but no axe was to be found.

"I'll have to go for help," she said, returning to the prisoner.

"No, indeed, you won't," said Anne vehemently. "If you do the storyof this will get out everywhere and I shall be ashamed to show my face.No, we must just wait until the Copp girls come home and bind themto secrecy. They'll know where the axe is and get me out.I'm not uncomfortable, as long as I keep perfectly still. . .not uncomfortable in BODY I mean. I wonder what the Copp girlsvalue this house at. I shall have to pay for the damage I've done,but I wouldn't mind that if I were only sure they would understandmy motive in peeping in at their pantry window. My sole comfort isthat the platter is just the kind I want and if Miss Copp will onlysell it to me I shall be resigned to what has happened."

"What if the Copp girls don't come home until after night. . .ortill tomorrow?" suggested Diana.

"If they're not back by sunset you'll have to go for otherassistance, I suppose," said Anne reluctantly, "but you mustn't gountil you really have to. Oh dear, this is a dreadful predicament. I wouldn't mind my misfortunes so much if they were romantic, asMrs. Morgan's heroines' always are, but they are always justsimply ridiculous. Fancy what the Copp girls will think when theydrive into their yard and see a girl's head and shoulders stickingout of the roof of one of their outhouses. Listen. . .is that awagon? No, Diana, I believe it is thunder."

Thunder it was undoubtedly, and Diana, having made a hastypilgrimage around the house, returned to announce that a very blackcloud was rising rapidly in the northwest.

"I believe we're going to have a heavy thunder-shower," she exclaimedin dismay, "Oh, Anne, what will we do?"

"We must prepare for it," said Anne tranquilly. A thunderstormseemed a trifle in comparison with what had already happened. "You'd better drive the horse and buggy into that open shed. Fortunately my parasol is in the buggy. Here. . .take my hatwith you. Marilla told me I was a goose to put on my best hatto come to the Tory Road and she was right, as she always is."

Diana untied the pony and drove into the shed, just as the firstheavy drops of rain fell. There she sat and watched the resultingdownpour, which was so thick and heavy that she could hardly seeAnne through it, holding the parasol bravely over her bare head. There was not a great deal of thunder, but for the best part of anhour the rain came merrily down. Occasionally Anne slanted backher parasol and waved an encouraging hand to her friend; Butconversation at that distance was quite out of the question. Finally the rain ceased, the sun came out, and Diana venturedacross the puddles of the yard.

"Did you get very wet?" she asked anxiously.

"Oh, no," returned Anne cheerfully. "My head and shoulders arequite dry and my skirt is only a little damp where the rain beatthrough the lathes. Don't pity me, Diana, for I haven't minded itat all. I kept thinking how much good the rain will do and how gladmy garden must be for it, and imagining what the flowers and budswould think when the drops began to fall. I imagined out a mostinteresting dialogue between the asters and the sweet peas and thewild canaries in the lilac bush and the guardian spirit of the garden.When I go home I mean to write it down. I wish I had a pencil andpaper to do it now, because I daresay I'll forget the best partsbefore I reach home."

Diana the faithful had a pencil and discovered a sheet of wrappingpaper in the box of the buggy. Anne folded up her drippingparasol, put on her hat, spread the wrapping paper on a shingleDiana handed up, and wrote out her garden idyl under conditionsthat could hardly be considered as favorable to literature. Nevertheless, the result was quite pretty, and Diana was"enraptured" when Anne read it to her.

"Oh, no, it wouldn't be suitable at all. There is no PLOT in it,you see. It's just a string of fancies. I like writing such things,but of course nothing of the sort would ever do for publication,for editors insist on plots, so Priscilla says. Oh, there'sMiss Sarah Copp now. PLEASE, Diana, go and explain."

Miss Sarah Copp was a small person, garbed in shabby black, with a hatchosen less for vain adornment than for qualities that would wear well.She looked as amazed as might be expected on seeing the curious tableauin her yard, but when she heard Diana's explanation she was all sympathy.She hurriedly unlocked the back door, produced the axe, and with a fewskillfull blows set Anne free. The latter, somewhat tired and stiff,ducked down into the interior of her prison and thankfully emergedinto liberty once more.

"Miss Copp," she said earnestly. "I assure you I looked into yourpantry window only to discover if you had a willow-ware platter.I didn't see anything else -- I didn't LOOK for anything else."

"Bless you, that's all right," said Miss Sarah amiably. "Youneedn't worry -- there's no harm done. Thank goodness, we Coppskeep our pantries presentable at all times and don't care who seesinto them. As for that old duckhouse, I'm glad it's smashed, formaybe now Martha will agree to having it taken down. She neverwould before for fear it might come in handy sometime and I've had towhitewash it every spring. But you might as well argue with a postas with Martha. She went to town today -- I drove her to the station.And you want to buy my platter. Well, what will you give for it?"

"Twenty dollars," said Anne, who was never meant to match businesswits with a Copp, or she would not have offered her price at the start.

"Well, I'll see," said Miss Sarah cautiously. "That platter is minefortunately, or I'd never dare to sell it when Martha wasn't here.As it is, I daresay she'll raise a fuss. Martha's the bossof this establishment I can tell you. I'm getting awful tired ofliving under another woman's thumb. But come in, come in. Youmust be real tired and hungry. I'll do the best I can for you inthe way of tea but I warn you not to expect anything but bread andbutter and some cowcumbers. Martha locked up all the cake andcheese and preserves afore she went. She always does, because shesays I'm too extravagant with them if company comes."

The girls were hungry enough to do justice to any fare, and theyenjoyed Miss Sarah's excellent bread and butter and "cowcumbers"thoroughly. When the meal was over Miss Sarah said,

"I don't know as I mind selling the platter. But it's worthtwenty-five dollars. It's a very old platter."

Diana gave Anne's foot a gentle kick under the table, meaning,"Don't agree -- she'll let it go for twenty if you hold out."But Anne was not minded to take any chances in regard to thatprecious platter. She promptly agreed to give twenty-five andMiss Sarah looked as if she felt sorry she hadn't asked for thirty.

"Well, I guess you may have it. I want all the money I can scareup just now. The fact is -- " Miss Sarah threw up her headimportantly, with a proud flush on her thin cheeks -- "I'm goingto be married -- to Luther Wallace. He wanted me twenty years ago.I liked him real well but he was poor then and father packed him off. I s'pose I shouldn't have let him go so meek but I was timid andfrightened of father. Besides, I didn't know men were so skurse."

When the girls were safely away, Diana driving and Anne holdingthe coveted platter carefully on her lap, the green, rain-freshenedsolitudes of the Tory Road were enlivened by ripples of girlish laughter.

"I'll amuse your Aunt Josephine with the `strange eventful history'of this afternoon when I go to town tomorrow. We've had a rathertrying time but it's over now. I've got the platter, and that rainhas laid the dust beautifully. So `all's well that ends well.'"

"We're not home yet," said Diana rather pessimistically, "andthere's no telling what may happen before we are. You're sucha girl to have adventures, Anne."

"Having adventures comes natural to some people," said Anneserenely. "You just have a gift for them or you haven't."

XIX

Just a Happy Day

"After all," Anne had said to Marilla once, "I believe the nicest andsweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderfulor exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures,following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string."

Life at Green Gables was full of just such days, for Anne's adventuresand misadventures, like those of other people, did not all happen at once,but were sprinkled over the year, with long stretches of harmless, happydays between, filled with work and dreams and laughter and lessons.Such a day came late in August. In the forenoon Anne and Diana rowedthe delighted twins down the pond to the sandshore to pick "sweet grass"and paddle in the surf, over which the wind was harping an old lyriclearned when the world was young.

In the afternoon Anne walked down to the old Irving place to see Paul.She found him stretched out on the grassy bank beside the thick firgrove that sheltered the house on the north, absorbed in a book offairy tales. He sprang up radiantly at sight of her.

"Oh, I'm so glad you've come, teacher," he said eagerly, "becauseGrandma's away. You'll stay and have tea with me, won't you?It's so lonesome to have tea all by oneself. YOU know, teacher.I've had serious thoughts of asking Young Mary Joe to sit downand eat her tea with me, but I expect Grandma wouldn't approve.She says the French have to be kept in their place. And anyhow,it's difficult to talk with Young Mary Joe. She just laughs and says,`Well, yous do beat all de kids I ever knowed.' That isn't my ideaof conversation."

"Of course I'll stay to tea," said Anne gaily. "I was dying to beasked. My mouth has been watering for some more of your grandma'sdelicious shortbread ever since I had tea here before."

Paul looked very sober.

"If it depended on me, teacher," he said, standing before Anne withhis hands in his pockets and his beautiful little face shadowed withsudden care, "You should have shortbread with a right good will.But it depends on Mary Joe. I heard Grandma tell her before sheleft that she wasn't to give me any shortcake because it was toorich for little boys' stomachs. But maybe Mary Joe will cut somefor you if I promise I won't eat any. Let us hope for the best."

"Yes, let us," agreed Anne, whom this cheerful philosophy suitedexactly, "and if Mary Joe proves hard-hearted and won't give me anyshortbread it doesn't matter in the least, so you are not to worryover that."

"You're sure you won't mind if she doesn't?" said Paul anxiously.

"Perfectly sure, dear heart."

"Then I won't worry," said Paul, with a long breath of relief,"especially as I really think Mary Joe will listen to reason. She's not a naturally unreasonable person, but she has learnedby experience that it doesn't do to disobey Grandma's orders.Grandma is an excellent woman but people must do as she tells them.She was very much pleased with me this morning because I managed atlast to eat all my plateful of porridge. It was a great effort butI succeeded. Grandma says she thinks she'll make a man of me yet. But, teacher, I want to ask you a very important question.You will answer it truthfully, won't you?"

"I'll try," promised Anne.

"Do you think I'm wrong in my upper story?" asked Paul, as if hisvery existence depended on her reply.

"Mary Joe. . .but she didn't know I heard her. Mrs. Peter Sloane'shired girl, Veronica, came to see Mary Joe last evening and I heardthem talking in the kitchen as I was going through the hall.I heard Mary Joe say, `Dat Paul, he is de queeres' leetle boy.He talks dat queer. I tink dere's someting wrong in his upper story.'I couldn't sleep last night for ever so long, thinking of it, andwondering if Mary Joe was right. I couldn't bear to ask Grandmaabout it somehow, but I made up my mind I'd ask you. I'm so gladyou think I'm all right in my upper story."

"Of course you are. Mary Joe is a silly, ignorant girl, and youare never to worry about anything she says," said Anne indignantly,secretly resolving to give Mrs. Irving a discreet hint as to theadvisability of restraining Mary Joe's tongue.

"Well, that's a weight off my mind," said Paul. "I'm perfectlyhappy now, teacher, thanks to you. It wouldn't be nice tohave something wrong in your upper story, would it, teacher?I suppose the reason Mary Joe imagines I have is because I tellher what I think about things sometimes."

"It is a rather dangerous practice," admitted Anne, out of thedepths of her own experience.

"Well, by and by I'll tell you the thoughts I told Mary Joe and youcan see for yourself if there's anything queer in them," said Paul,"but I'll wait till it begins to get dark. That is the time I acheto tell people things, and when nobody else is handy I just HAVE totell Mary Joe. But after this I won't, if it makes her imagine I'mwrong in my upper story. I'll just ache and bear it."

"And if the ache gets too bad you can come up to Green Gables andtell me your thoughts," suggested Anne, with all the gravity thatendeared her to children, who so dearly love to be taken seriously.

"Yes, I will. But I hope Davy won't be there when I go because hemakes faces at me. I don't mind VERY much because he is such alittle boy and I am quite a big one, but still it is not pleasantto have faces made at you. And Davy makes such terrible ones. Sometimes I am frightened he will never get his face straightenedout again. He makes them at me in church when I ought to be thinkingof sacred things. Dora likes me though, and I like her, but not sowell as I did before she told Minnie May Barry that she meant tomarry me when I grew up. I may marry somebody when I grow up butI'm far too young to be thinking of it yet, don't you think, teacher?"

"Rather young," agreed teacher.

"Speaking of marrying, reminds me of another thing that has beentroubling me of late," continued Paul. "Mrs. Lynde was down hereone day last week having tea with Grandma, and Grandma made me showher my little mother's picture. . .the one father sent me for mybirthday present. I didn't exactly want to show it to Mrs. Lynde. Mrs. Lynde is a good, kind woman, but she isn't the sort of personyou want to show your mother's picture to. YOU know, teacher.But of course I obeyed Grandma. Mrs. Lynde said she was verypretty ut kind of actressy looking, and must have been an awful lotyounger than father. Then she said, `Some of these days your pawill be marrying again likely. How will you like to have a new ma,Master Paul? ' Well, the idea almost took my breath away, teacher,but I wasn't going to let Mrs. Lynde see THAT. I just looked herstraight in the face. . .like this. . .and I said, `Mrs. Lynde,father made a pretty good job of picking out my first mother and Icould trust him to pick out just as good a one the second time.'And I CAN trust him, teacher. But still, I hope, if he ever doesgive me a new mother, he'll ask my opinion about her before it'stoo late. There's Mary Joe coming to call us to tea. I'll go andconsult with her about the shortbread."

As a result of the "consultation," Mary Joe cut the shortbread andadded a dish of preserves to the bill of fare. Anne poured the teaand she and Paul had a very merry meal in the dim old sitting roomwhose windows were open to the gulf breezes, and they talked so much"nonsense" that Mary Joe was quite scandalized and told Veronicathe next evening that "de school mees" was as queer as Paul.After tea Paul took Anne up to his room to show her hismother's picture, which had been the mysterious birthday presentkept by Mrs. Irving in the bookcase. Paul's little low-ceilingedroom was a soft whirl of ruddy light from the sun that was settingover the sea and swinging shadows from the fir trees that grewclose to the square, deep-set window. From out this soft glowand glamor shone a sweet, girlish face, with tender mother eyes,that was hanging on the wall at the foot of the bed.

"That's my little mother," said Paul with loving pride. "I gotGrandma to hang it there where I'd see it as soon as I opened myeyes in the morning. I never mind not having the light when I goto bed now, because it just seems as if my little mother was righthere with me. Father knew just what I would like for a birthdaypresent, although he never asked me. Isn't it wonderful how muchfathers DO know?"

"Your mother was very lovely, Paul, and you look a little like her.But her eyes and hair are darker than yours."

"My eyes are the same color as father's," said Paul, flyingabout the room to heap all available cushions on the window seat,"but father's hair is gray. He has lots of it, but it is gray.You see, father is nearly fifty. That's ripe old age, isn't it?But it's only OUTSIDE he's old. INSIDE he's just as young as anybody. Now, teacher, please sit here; and I'll sit at your feet. May I laymy head against your knee? That's the way my little mother and Iused to sit. Oh, this is real splendid, I think."

"Now, I want to hear those thoughts which Mary Joe pronounces so queer,"said Anne, patting the mop of curls at her side. Paul never needed anycoaxing to tell his thoughts. . .at least, to congenial souls.

"I thought them out in the fir grove one night," he said dreamily. "Of course I didn't BELIEVE them but I THOUGHT them. YOU know,teacher. And then I wanted to tell them to somebody and there wasnobody but Mary Joe. Mary Joe was in the pantry setting bread andI sat down on the bench beside her and I said, `Mary Joe, do youknow what I think? I think the evening star is a lighthouse on theland where the fairies dwell.' And Mary Joe said, `Well, yous arede queer one. Dare ain't no such ting as fairies.' I was very muchprovoked. Of course, I knew there are no fairies; but that needn'tprevent my thinking there is. You know, teacher. But I triedagain quite patiently. I said, `Well then, Mary Joe, do you knowwhat I think? I think an angel walks over the world after the sunsets. . .a great, tall, white angel, with silvery folded wings. . .and sings the flowers and birds to sleep. Children can hear himif they know how to listen.' Then Mary Joe held up her handsall over flour and said, `Well, yous are de queer leetle boy.Yous make me feel scare.' And she really did looked scared.I went out then and whispered the rest of my thoughts to the garden.There was a little birch tree in the garden and it died. Grandma saysthe salt spray killed it; but I think the dryad belonging to it wasa foolish dryad who wandered away to see the world and got lost. And the little tree was so lonely it died of a broken heart."

"And when the poor, foolish little dryad gets tired of the worldand comes back to her tree HER heart will break," said Anne.

"Yes; but if dryads are foolish they must take the consequences,just as if they were real people," said Paul gravely. "Do you knowwhat I think about the new moon, teacher? I think it is a littlegolden boat full of dreams."

"And when it tips on a cloud some of them spill out and fall intoyour sleep."

"Exactly, teacher. Oh, you DO know. And I think the violets arelittle snips of the sky that fell down when the angels cut outholes for the stars to shine through. And the buttercups are madeout of old sunshine; and I think the sweet peas will be butterflieswhen they go to heaven. Now, teacher, do you see anything so veryqueer about those thoughts?"

"No, laddie dear, they are not queer at all; they are strange andbeautiful thoughts for a little boy to think, and so people whocouldn't think anything of the sort themselves, if they tried for ahundred years, think them queer. But keep on thinking them, Paul. . .some day you are going to be a poet, I believe."

When Anne reached home she found a very different type of boyhoodwaiting to be put to bed. Davy was sulky; and when Anne hadundressed him he bounced into bed and buried his face in the pillow.